The Imperial Banquet was not a display of gold and excess, but a masterclass in geometry and light. In a private chamber overlooking the silver-lined spires of the capital, Emperor Tyler IV McDowell sat across from the Aen Saevherne.
The Emperor had shed his formal regalia, appearing not as a distant ruler, but as a man of science seeking data. To bridge the gap between their cultures, both men spoke in common speech.
"I find it difficult to reconcile the physics of your world with the reports I have received," Tyler IV said, leaning forward. "My scouts describe a land where humans hunt your kind like vermin. Is it true? Are the dh'oine (humans) of the south truly so primitive that they treat biological diversity with such violence?"
The Elven Sage nodded slowly, his voice heavy with the weight of centuries. "It is true, Excellency. In the south, logic is a servant to superstition. They do not see the world through the lens of your technology. They see it through the lens of fear and the 'Chaos' they call magic. To them, we are not a different species to be understood; we are an anomaly to be erased."
The Emperor's jaw tightened. "To discard reason for the sake of hatred is a failure of the highest order. They are a disgrace to our biology."
While the leaders spoke of the state of the world, the other elven refugees were gathered in a central courtyard. They were met by a Steam Mechanic, the most hands-on technologist of the Empire. He stood nearly eight feet tall, encased in a full steam-powered exoskeleton. The machine hissed and clicked with every movement, a symphony of brass pistons and high-pressure valves that transformed him into a nigh-unstoppable behemoth.
The Mechanic retracted his faceplate, his eyes scanning the elves with genuine curiosity.
"Is it true?" the Mechanic asked, his voice amplified by the metal frame. "Does the south really consist of dh'oine n'va glan (barbarians) who still wear ordinary iron armor? Do they truly believe in superstitions instead of the strength of the engine?"
The elves looked at the mechanical giant in awe, nodding silently.
The Mechanic reached into a utility pouch on his hydraulic thigh and pulled out a folded paper. He tossed it onto a nearby table for them to see. It was the latest Imperial Gazette. The headline, printed in bold, precise ink, screamed: THE BARBARISM OF THE SOUTH: A REPORT ON THE DYING LOGIC OF MAN.
"The news is everywhere," the Mechanic grunted, his pistons venting a plume of white steam. "The entire Empire is reading about it. Everyone feels a strong revulsion toward our kin in the south. To think we share the same blood as those who would hunt refugees... it makes my gears grind."
He slammed a massive, reinforced fist into his palm, the sound echoing like a hammer on an anvil. "If they ever bring their 'superstitions' to our buffer zone, they'll find out exactly what happens when iron meets technology."
******
The Imperial Banquet had reached its most critical juncture. Emperor Tyler IV McDowell looked at the Aen Saevherne with a gaze of intense scientific curiosity.
"I have heard accounts of the 'Chaos' from the scouts," the Emperor said in common speech. "But data is no substitute for observation. Under my request, show me. Perform a small magic trick."
The Sage hesitated, then raised his hand. With a soft hum, a small sphere of flickering blue light materialized between his fingers, dancing in the air like a captive star. It cast long, shifting shadows against the brass-inlaid walls.
Tyler IV did not flinch. He leaned in, his eyes narrowing behind a set of specialized lenses. After a moment, he sat back, his expression one of clinical recognition.
"I recognize this," the Emperor noted calmly. "It is merely a form of energy. In the Empire, we see magic as what we call a superpower. We have theorized its existence—a raw, external force—though nobody among our people has seen or achieved it yet."
The Sage extinguished the light, his expression one of shock. "How can you be so sure? To us, this is the foundation of the universe. To you, it is a mere 'energy'?"
The Emperor stood, unbuttoning his formal coat to reveal a specialized harness beneath. Strapped to his chest and arms were strange, buzzing and sparkling instruments that hummed with a faint, rhythmic violet light.
"Aside from being a ruler, I am a technologist," Tyler IV revealed. "Specifically, I am a Tesla Scientist. We are practitioners of the most mysterious, almost ethereal of the technological disciplines. While others work with gears and steam, we strive to control lightning itself."
The Sage watched the flickering instruments with a nervous fidget. He had heard the whispers of the commoners; they said Tesla Scientists were playing with powers beyond their understanding that were better left alone—rumours even claimed the most accomplished could reanimate lifeless bodies.
"As a Tesla Scientist," the Emperor continued, "I have knowledge of many energies: fire, heat, light, and now this 'chaotic energy' you possess. Our scholars often overreach—what could go wrong, they ask, before they cause an overload. But I am a responsible person. Every royal and noble in the Empire ensures that commoner Tesla Scientists do not cause an incident. I am very much conscious of the fields of force we inhabit. I will never go too far."
He looked the Sage in the eye, the violet sparks on his suit reflecting in his pupils. "Your 'magic' is just another variable for us to measure and categorize with technology."
******
The Emperor stood by the great glass window, the Tesla Scientist instruments on his harness casting a rhythmic, violet pulse against the darkening sky of the capital. He turned back to the Aen Saevherne, his expression as firm and unyielding as the steel of his city.
"Inform every non-human in the south," Tyler IV commanded, his voice carrying the absolute weight of an Imperial decree. "Tell them to move to the north immediately. They must pack their bags and leave their homes without delay. Tell them the Empire is waiting."
The Sage looked at him, his eyes wide with a mixture of hope and trepidation. "But Excellency, the buffer zone... the forests are thick with monsters. My people are weary and broken; they cannot fight their way through that nightmare of ice and teeth."
The Emperor dismissed the concern with a sharp wave of his hand, the sparks from his brass-rimmed instruments reflecting in his eyes.
"Do not worry about the buffer zone or the monsters," the Emperor assured him. "The Empire will send the transports to escort them safely. Our technology does not fear the biology of the Wilds. We will deploy armored columns to ensure their passage is secure."
He stepped closer, the humming energy of his suit vibrating in the air. "I am an emperor of a truly civilized nation. I cannot allow innocents to be at the mercy of the barbarians of the south. If your kin can reach the edge of the frost, my machines and my men will do the rest."
The Sage bowed deeply, his heart racing. For centuries, he had watched his people retreat from the encroaching darkness of human hatred. Now, a dh'oine (human) of logic and lightning was offering a sanctuary built on reason.
"They will come, Excellency," the Sage whispered. "They will come as if the stars themselves were calling them home."